


Forbidden Knowledge

by ObsidianButterfly



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Clothed Sex, Erotic Fiction, F/M, Fingering, Het, Masturbation, Sex, Smut, Teacher/Student, master/student, porn in the library
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-13
Updated: 2017-09-13
Packaged: 2018-12-27 17:54:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12086274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObsidianButterfly/pseuds/ObsidianButterfly
Summary: Whilst studying in Masyaf's vast library you uncover a work of erotic fiction. It turns out that Malik knows this book well.





	Forbidden Knowledge

You were not completely sure just _when_ you happened to uncover the thick, leather-bound tome that your gaze was currently greedily consuming, but sneaking away to read the next page was already becoming firm habit. 

Biting the inside of your cheek, you quickly skim the brightly illustrated page and turn to the next one. It was your secret. Your guilty pleasure. There, hidden away on a forgotten, disused, dusty shelf, to peruse when the mood took you. 

Mentor Altair had created a vast library in Masyaf, full of both ancient texts and modern works. Some were meticulously copied from those brought in by visitors and passing travellers, but others had been ‘liberated’ from not-so-careful owners. The manuscripts covered everything from poetry to mathematics, history to languages, and even included the genealogical lines of the greatest assassins since the beginning of the creed. But you never thought, glancing down at the very vivid image before you, that you would _ever_ find a book like this. 

A small distant cough startles you and you glance up quickly, surveying your surroundings to make sure that no one had come to investigate your disappearance. Just a few feet away, behind towering columns of shelves packed full of books and manuscripts, sat fellow novices in the midst of their studies. Your own work was finished and you relished an opportunity to sneak a peek at the next chapter. 

You had to be careful, _discreet_ , you couldn’t get caught reading this...the shame and embarrassment might actually kill you. 

You found that you couldn't help yourself though; it was sinfully addictive and drew your attention, now occupying your dreams as well as your spare time. There was also, unfortunately, no way that you could _ever_ remove it from the library. In doing so you would need to admit to your peers what you were reading, not to mention the lack of privacy from cramped novice quarters where you could look upon it in peace. 

There was also no conceivable way that you could face master Malik.  

The library may have begun with Altair, but it was the Rafiq who shaped its construction and its vast collection.  With mentor Altair now in charge of Masyaf's assassins, there was no need for his second in command to remain housed at the bureau in Jerusalem. 

It was Malik who prowled the corridors cataloguing and ensuring that the endless volumes were tidy and up to date. It was Malik who snarled and wrapped novices over the knuckles who did not take proper care of the manuscripts, or who _dared_ to bring food or drink into the sacred space. It was Rafiq’s displeasure that you would face for disturbing the silence of his library, and it was he who supervised who could and could not enter, and which books could leave on loan. 

No. There was no way that you would ever have the nerve to ask Malik where this particular book came from. Even though he must surely know it was there? At times, the man seemed to have an almost _supernatural_ sense for spotting manuscripts out of place, especially when some lazy novice threw their discarded tomb back on a shelf in any old fashion, not taking into account the carefully catalogued system. 

After the punishment of the last unfortunate soul, not many would face the master assassin’s displeasure in disrespecting the space. 

There was something oddly comforting about the library; quiet, calm, hidden in the depths of the fortress with gentle light and filled with the musty smell of leather and parchment. The room housing the greatest collection of works in the world was immense, rows upon rows of towering bookcases piled high with combinations of charts and books and manuscripts. The silence could be eerie at times, muted novices cowed under the Malik’s hawk-like gaze, who often remained hunched at a large ornate desk for hours, positioned near the door to cast his scrutiny over those entering and leaving. 

'Are you looking for something, novice?' 

Your undignified squeal of surprise at the succinct masculine voice in your ear echoed through the hushed shelves. The coveted book, which you had so carefully eased from under a pile of papers, tumbled to the floor with a meaty smack against the tiles. 

Heart hammering with more than just surprise, you turn to find the library’s curator, Malik, long out of the field but still incredibly stealthy, a few feet away from you. A few books were tucked under his arm, suggesting that he was likely returning them to their rightful place. 

Mouth suddenly as dry as the desert outside, your mind races for an excuse, _any_ excuse, but find your lips moulded together. 

Paralysed, your eyes guiltily slink to the dropped book at your feet. _Of course_ it had to fall within the Rafiq’s view, _and_ just happen to tumble open at an unmistakably vivid illustration. 

Malik’s dark gaze follows yours downward, only his isn't full of embarrassment and shame like your own. 

You watch a small frown form between his eyebrows as he studied the book on the floor for brief seconds, eyes finally sliding up to meet yours. He raises one eyebrow, an almost surprised look crossing his features while your brain is busy trying to get any muscle at all to start working again. 

Deftly, the assassin abandons his little pile of books onto a nearby shelf and bends to retrieve your fallen tomb before you can even gather your wits about you, or think to snatch it back out of view. 

Malik picks up the book easily with his one hand, drawing it towards him for a closer look. Lips pursed, he studied the page a few moments, eyes briefly wandering to yours only for your gaze to flit quickly away in embarrassment. 

'Interesting choice of book.' He offers, voice alarmingly low and with just the slightest edge of playful suggestion. 

Not that you were paying much attention, you were more astounded by the fact that you were not being yelled at.

Heart hammering in your throat, you can feel heat slowly rising all the way up your neck to the very tips of your ears.

The Rafiq narrows his gaze as you remain stupid and dumbfounded. He glances to the shadows behind you, then over his shoulder, as if he were looking for someone else. 

Did he think someone was here with you? On a few occasions novices had been known to sneak an impassioned embrace in the quite corners of the library, but they were usually quickly discovered and chased away by the mentors.

That rich, penetrating, gaze falls back on you, rooting you to the spot and practically pinning you in place. Malik’s lip curls as he regards you over the top of the book, smirking slightly at you, an expression you don’t think that you had _ever_ seen across his face. He tended to glower, scowl even, at the novices who quickly scurried by him in Masyaf's labyrinth of corridors and ramparts. His temper was legendary, as was his lack of patience for fools and ignorants. 

Your stomach sinks all the way to the floor, hoping that the ground would just open and swallow you whole. It would be a quicker death than this one, then you wouldn't need to face the shame of being caught looking at, what could only be described as, a dirty book.

Bracing for anger, beratement, or the usual distain from the assassin, Malik’s amused consideration of the book currently resting in his hand takes you by surprise, and is frankly a little unnerving. 

Finally pulling yourself together with a jolt, eyes downcast and averted, you stammer your pathetic excuses. 'I-I'm s-s-sorry, S-S-Sir. I was, was just looking for...s-something.' 

Quickly gathering your other manuscripts you turn heel and flee out the library, practically sprinting away from the Rafiq without looking back.   
  


If you had had you way then you would have never, _ever_ , set foot in the library again after that ordeal. You could barely look master Malik in the eye, not without replaying the whole _painful_ ordeal. And what was even worse was that you seemed to be running into the man more frequently of late. It was likely just your imagination, but the assassin seemed to be everywhere that you needed to be in the days after the incident. At the sparring ring; he was there watching the practice of recruits. When you were instructed to clean the stables; he just _happened_ to be handing letters to the outgoing couriers. Even when you had been given the task to deliver an important codex to mentor Altair’s quarters, Malik was standing right there in the room. After you had knocked and let yourself in, you discovered the two men hunched conspiratorially over maps and charts. Altair probably though you were dense, or perhaps even a little slow after your show of practically tripping over your own feet, mumbling instructions regarding your letter and slinking out quickly so that you did not need to meet the Rafiq’s eye.

After what felt like weeks of torture, but in reality had barely been a few days, there was absolutely no choice for it; you _had_ to go back to the library. Work and studies demanded completion, and required the use of certain texts to do so. 

Each lingering glance from behind his vast, authoritative, desk had you wondering if Malik was secretly laughing at you. No doubt he would have told his good friend Altair what he caught you reading, probably to excuse and explain your earlier behaviour when you all but threw the important codex at them and ran. It would be just your luck for him to let it slip to all the other senior assassins as well. Did they all snigger about you behind your back? Were they all laughing at you? 

For his part though, Malik made no comment, despite your continuing internal self-persecution. He was still short with all the novices; his usual brisk self, waving away your barely-audible requests to remove manuscripts for study with an elegant hand, swooping down on those spilling ink on the table tops, and shushing giggling recruits hiding in the book stacks for a quick chat. 

It was several weeks before curiosity got the better of you and the painfully embarrassing sting of the encounter in the library had faded. 

Feeling bored, you dared risk a trip back to the familiar bookshelf housing the most forbidden book that you had ever seen. 

You _had_ vowed to abandon it, to stay away lest risk another discovery. But when it came down to it, you couldn't _quite_ help yourself. 

The library was almost empty in early evening, just after supper, with only a few novices loitering at the centre desks, all of whom were too busy pouring over their own work to notice you slip through rows and out of sight. The Rafiq had seemingly disappeared after being summoned by Altair, so you decided to use the opportunity to seek out your abandoned and neglected book.

It was exactly where it should be, you had half expected master Malik to have moved it, but you suppose it would have interfered with his careful filing system. You wonder why it had remained virtually undiscovered until now. It wasn’t particularly hidden, it did inhabit a more uncommon selection of the archives but it would have been just the thing that gossiping novices would have loved to laugh about in hushed whispers in the dormitories.

Slipping the tome from its shelf, you begin guiltily devouring the pages, edging into a dark corner while sneaking glances across your shoulder should you get caught. 

It was beautifully designed; thick, jet-black stylised script on high grade expensive paper, but including colourful and intricate pictures on every second page. The outside betrayed nothing of the interior and its erotic nature, a simple brown tome bound in leather with gold writing on the cover. It looked almost like every other conservative book in the library from the outside. You idly wonder who wrote it, where it came from, who would have use for such a works…

'If you like the book,’ came an unexpected, deep, purr, ‘then you should take it.' 

You were obviously very poor at keeping watch, as master Malik had easily snuck up on you. Again. 

You had escaped punishment last time, but you had a sinking feeling that you would not be quite so lucky this time around.

Turning slowly from the bookshelf, you find the Rafiq surprisingly close, head cocked to one side and regarding you with a… curious expression.

‘Tell me, novice, did you actually read the text or were you too busy just looking at the pictures?’

Malik sounded _almost_ like his usual mocking self. He was always berating trainees poor studying and their ability to miss key information from the texts, but there was a definite playful undertone to his taunts this time.

Licking your dry lips you swallow hard, wondering if you could chance teasing back. The assassin was not someone that anyone commonly felt they could joke with; his wit was usually concentrated with knocking the smug arrogance out of recruits who though themselves superior.

‘I read…some of it.’ You started bravely but trailed off meekly in face of his scrutiny. 

The heat of his gaze was breath taking, and you were certain that the slow trail of his eyes from the tips of your toes to lips, lingering on some intimate areas, was very deliberately provocative on his part.

‘Are you enjoying it?’ He asked nonchalantly, running a hand through his short, cropped, hair and tugging a sleeve into place, fixing you with a smug smirk.

Did he mean the book or his unusually playful mood? And should you just say yes or no? What was the best answer to get you out of any trouble? Did the Rafiq expect you to be shocked by the book, offended? Perhaps it was to be something that novices were supposed to be too busy to pay attention to.

Malik tapped his finger against his lips, pursed against your silence, never letting up that hawk-like gaze from those dark eyes until you felt like squirming under the inspection.

‘Is it for reference? Hmm? Or perhaps offers a more _practical_ use?’

He was _definitely_ playing with you; you just didn’t catch his meaning.

Your mouth opened, but you were still too addled to form any sort of coherent sentence. Too shocked by Malik’s sudden appearance, and his increasingly out of character demeanour.

The Rafiq suddenly pounces closer, movements slick and fluid despite his obvious injury and years of not needing to bother to train in combat.

You find yourself backing up from his advance in effort of keeping some sort of proprietary space, hands gripping tight your prized book and left almost pinned against the shelving behind your back.

Mere inches away, it’s the closest you have ever come to the man. _Intimately_ close. Malik often exuded air of authority and distain that did not encourage familiarity like some of the other mentors. His hair was still mostly black, despite his age, but turning white at the temples, it matched the shadow of stubble across his chin. You had never noticed the small scar on his temple, just beside his left eye, or the small crook in his nose that had obviously been broken.

The seductive smirk tugging the corners of his mouth was a little distracting, as was the overwhelming heat from his body radiating against any bare patches of skin your robes left exposed. 

He smelled good. Why hadn’t you ever noticed how good he had smelled before now? Like the books, leather and parchment, with the sweetness from assassin Tamir’s home brewed honey drink, and the gentle vanilla fragrance from the currently favoured soap in Masyaf.

His voice was thick, low, incredibly deep, the kind that was only used by a man in intimate situations. ‘What I meant _was_ , have you touched yourself while reading it?’

Your breath hitched at his suggestion, unashamed and brazen. You didn’t miss the eager look in his eye, nor the slight lick of his lips as he positioned himself in your personal space. You can’t meet his eye, instead your gaze falling lower upon his lips, which was a very big mistake on your part. The pink, plump bottom lip, whet from his tongue, was practically daring you to bite it, or suck…or maybe just a little nibble.

Blood flushed through your body, heating you right to the core, a little trembling thread of excitement uncoiling form low in your belly and rapidly travelling southwards.

A hand slipped around you hip drawing you closer, earning another startled gasp, before quickly skimming upwards across your waist, ribs, breast, and collar. When the hot bare flesh of his palm reaches the equally bare skin at your neck you let out an involuntary groan. 

Malik’s hands were soft, yet rough at the same time, slightly dry from handling all the various papers and texts, but his touch was gentle, eager. His thumb traces your jaw raising goosebumps along its caressing path, leaving your tongue thick and mind fuzzy. 

You hadn’t expected…this, whatever _this_ was. What was he doing?

Parting your lips automatically to his touch, the assassin ran his thumb across, gaze hooded and intimately focused on you. 

You were not sure if the deep, heavy-breathing was you or the Rafiq, but someone was panting. You weren’t entirely convinced that you were actually breathing anymore to be honest, hanging on the brink, awaiting the assassin’s next move. 

Malik’s head bent forwards, and you prepared for him to kiss you, feeling unsure and nervous, butterflies squirming low in your stomach and heart beating out a pounding rhythm of blood in your ears. Your mind wanted you to scream and run, but your body was looking for his next touch, anticipating those kissable lips against yours and wanted more of that low, teasing voice caressing your body. 

Instead of closing that final few painful inches, Malik buried himself against your neck, lips trailing the sensitive skin there until your eyes fluttered closed in bliss and knees felt week. 

Just when you thought you might collapse from the sheer overwhelming amount of pleasure, his larger body pressed urgently against yours, trapping you between him and the bookshelf.

The Rafiq’s voice was rough in your ear as he briefly abandoned his assault on your neck.

'It's a book for lovers.' He whispered, low and provoking, tongue tracing the shell of your ear. ‘It’s a fiction, a story of a princess who will not marry a man who cannot provide her forty nights of pleasure.’

If mentor wanted you to pay attention to a lesson or book review, then he was really going to need to stop touching you so intimately. Your glazed-look and body-wracking shiver at his touch was only met with a suggestive chuckle as he ploughed on. 

‘So the prospective prince, eager to please, spends his days in the brothels with the courtesans and mistresses, learning their craft and techniques by day, and at night-’ He paused to trail a path of gentle kisses from collar to jaw, playfully nipping the sensitive fleshy part of your earlobe on route and chuckling at your whimpering, ‘- demonstrates _all_ that he has learned on his beloved.’ 

Lost in sensation, you dropped the book at your back to thud to the floor, wrapping your now free arms around Malik’s shoulders and clung to him. Sod the book, it was fiction, something forbidden that tantalised and excited you. In front of you was a real, warm, alive person creating just the same sensations. In fact, better!

'It’s designed to show the various ways of _pleasure_.' The assassin’s words purred across your flesh, dripping with promise just as a warm, male hand slips under your tunic, drawing a gasp from low in your throat when he come in contact with bare skin.

Squirming against his touch, you practically sigh his name, ‘Malik’, loving the sound of it as it rolls off your tongue.

He quickly shushes in your ear, grinning playfully. ‘Sounds carry in the library. Should you wish to desist then by all means step away, but should you want me to continue…’ His hand crept up your torso fingers lightly caressing the ticklish skin at your ribs and stopping just short of the mound of your breast, thumb teasing upwards. ‘…Then you are going to need to hold your _tongue_ , novice.’

You bit back your moan as Malik’s thumb brushed upwards, teasing your nipple into a sensitive, stiff peak.

Excited moans threatened to spill from your lips and you bit down, hard, panting heavily in the assassin’s ear while he sucked on the sweet spot just where your shoulder met your neck, and cupped your breast.

You couldn’t quite believe that the uptight Rafiq was currently teasing you in the middle of the library. You had obviously fallen asleep at your desk and were having an incredibly vivid, erotic, dream and, at any moment, you would be thudded back to consciousness by the very same man berating you for napping and drooling over some important text.

If you _were_ dreaming then it was a very, _very_ good dream. Malik’s fingers were rough against your skin, but incredibly stimulating, kneading your breast with a frankly astounding level of skill, thumb stroking your nipple in time with long sweeps of his tongue. When you gasped and shifted against him, he switched sides, slipping his hand over to fondle your other breast until you were begging.

Pressing tightly against the front of your body, you find yourself forced against the bookcase, cradled between the warmth of the Rafiq’s body and the hard shelves behind you. When his hips collided and bucked against yours in urgency, creating a wonderfully delicious friction, the bookcase behind you wobbled with the force, causing a few giggles and a sly smirk but Malik continued his assault, seemingly spurred on by your enthusiastic encouragement.

He thrust a muscled thigh between your legs, and even with the many layering of clothes between the pair of you the heat between your legs was palpable. You couldn’t help but squirm against him, rubbing yourself shamelessly against the firm thigh lodged between your legs. It felt good, amazing in fact, but it was only providing minimal relief to the fire that his lips and hands were igniting in your body.

Malik’s assault was merciless, teeth nipping playfully at your neck and along your jaw, hands massaging your breast under your clothing. When he kissed his way along your cheek to your lips, you parted eagerly, willingly, inviting him in to dart his tongue in to tangle with yours.

He tasted of tea, sweet, herbal, refreshing. 

Low moans bubble up unbidden from low in your throat at his actions. These were no chaste pecs that he was offering, the assassin was devouring you form the mouth downward, claiming every inch as his own until he was forced to shush you again, becoming just a little too vocal for the tranquillity of the library. There were likely still novices studying within, who would all be very shocked to discover you being fondled against a bookcase by the curator, but just at this moment the whole of Masyaf could watch if Malik just continued his pleasant torment, if he would just give you a little more... 

Your indignant squeak at being hushed was sucked right out of your mouth, as the assassin kissed you again, grinning against your lips. He wasn’t exactly being quiet himself, deep rumbling pants reverberating through his chest at any given moment, usually when your hips slid the length of his thigh, and delicious low groans when you threaded your fingers through his hair, nails scrapping his scalp and back of his neck. The noises he was making were delightful; you hadn’t known a man could make them.

Gripping his shoulders tights, you continued undulating against him, eager to keep up the wonderful friction between your legs and trying to ease the rapidly growing pressure in your abdomen. But something was lacking.

He was woefully over-dressed. Your loose short tunic and leather leggings were quickly thrown on for sparring practice earlier; Malik had easily wormed his dexterous fingers between the flimsy layers of fabric to come into contact with your bare skin.

Your own nails eagerly clawed at his robes, too many layers, too ornate…tunics upon shirts and jackets and belts…there was no way you could easily touch his skin and you really wanted to touch him, to curl your fingers around his bicep, run your nails across his pectorals and the hard plains of his stomach, to feel the warm flesh of his body bare to your exploring hands.

Tugging fruitlessly at his long outer robe, you whined frustratedly at your lack of progress. Malik pulled back, chuckling at the wounded look you were giving him. He bit your lip playfully in his retreat, soothing the soon-to-be-bruised skin with his tongue.

‘Not the place for undressing, novice, but perhaps we could explore a little nonetheless?’

Dazed, and giddy from his intense breath-stealing kisses, you leaned against the shelving behind you for support, eyes hooded but thoroughly enjoying the flushed look on the assassins cheeks, the slight dimple at the corner of his mouth when he grinned, and his mussed up hair from your wandering hands.

Your body _begged_ to be touched again, it had had a taste of what the Rafiq could offer and you _needed_ more. Hooking fingers into the waistband of his belt, you tugged Malik closer, pulling him flushed against your body once more and aggressing happily to anything else he had planned. 

With a smug smirk he gleefully resumed his task of kissing you, drawing you against the curve of his body and teasing you with some more of those tantalisingly narcotic kisses and expert touch. 

It took you a moment for your lust addled mind to recognise the firm press against your thigh, realisation drawing a small moan of longing and a quiver of recognition in the pit of your belly. The tight line of Malik’s erection, concealed in layers of his clothing, was straining in eagerness for you. It was nice to realise that he was just as affected as you, and enjoying himself just as much.

Reaching downwards, you palmed him as much as you could through the cloth, panting at the almost growl-like sounds from the man as the ferocity and intensity of his kisses increased. You thought that he had been passionate before but the stubble from his jaw now rasped against your skin, fingers gripped your waist tight enough to bruise and he shuddered, thrusting hard against you. 

The bookcase behind you groaned from the weight of the assassin pushing you into it as his body claimed yours and you fought to keep stroking him through his clothing. A few books slipped off the shelf to thud to the floor, but Malik payed them no heed, swatting your hand away from him so that he could direct his next attack.

Your wide eyes questioned his next move, but the Rafiq was busy, eager fingers sneaking down the front of your body to tug at the ties binding your trousers. Deftly, he loosened them with the ease of a man who has spent many years fastening and removing clothing one handed and claimed his prize. 

A cool rush of air seeped between your thighs as the laces fell open, only to be replaced by a very warm palm plunging between your legs and covering the mound of your sex.

Whimpering at such an intimate touch, you thought nothing of parting your thighs wider, allowing him free reign to stroke and caress and explore. Your underwear was worked aside with barely a pause, fingers seeking the warm wetness that had built so readily from his actions. 

That first touch of bare skin against the bare skin of your sex left you hissing in surprised pleasure.

Malik eases a thick finger around your clit and you wanted to tell him how amazing it felt, how good he was, how much more you wanted but what came of your your throat was more ‘hngl’ and indecipherable panting.

Grinning at your reaction, Malik nipped at your lips and jaw, his gaze locked on yours so that he could fully enjoy watching you writhe and squirm under his touch, and _oh_ , what a touch.

He teased and caressed, probed and massaged, peaking pleasure within you with every passing second. You were soaking wet you knew, long past caring of any propriety or rights or wrong of intimate encounters with your superiors, this was _too_ good and just as forbidden as your illicit book.

When your moans became too loud, the Rafiq was forced to cover your mouth with his, drawing out your little gasps and moans into his mouth as his tongue licked and caressed just as dexterously as fingertips.

When he wasn’t kissing you, you were compelled to clamp a free hand over your mouth in effort to stifle the inevitable reaction to such intense pleasure, you other hand was busy gripping the edge of one bookshelf for dear life while Malik carefully eased one finger inside of you. Finding you wet and willing and open for him, he easily slid in a long, thick, second digit and you could feel your inner muscled clamping down on the intrusion, fluttering and testing the new sensation. His thumb returns its slow, circular massage of your clit, which was standing to attention and trembling just as badly as the rest of your muscles.

You silently begged with your eyes and body movements, because you didn’t trust your mouth or risk removing your hand fixed tight against your lips. More, harder faster…Malik didn’t disappoint, knowing just how to tease and caress, when to be rough and when to be gentle, when to apply just a little more pressure to your peaking clit. You vaguely wonder if he has done much ‘studying’ of this book, as needs no instruction on how to be a considerate or giving lover.

Lips and teeth trailed your neck as the Rafiq leaned against you, crushing you wonderfully under the press of his body, fingers slipping into your pussy just a fraction of an inch deeper and curling them along your inner walls, stroking the sensitive spots he discovered there. The firm heel of his palm surged against your clit and your hips bucked instinctively, grinding against the offered source of stimulation.

You wanted to scream, moan his name, let everyone in the library hear the evidence of the incredible sensations that this man was giving you. 

Sweat tricked down your spine and gathered at your hairline, your skin was on fire; hot and clammy, the warmth of the assassin’s body seeping through his clothing and yours to overwhelm you. Your breathing was hindered from your vice like grip, busy keeping a tight check on your mouth, legs shaking in effort to keep upright, muscles quivering.

You could feel it; the approaching burst of ultimate pleasure, like a cup slowly filling to the brim with liquid and threatening to spill over, or the tides edge slowing creeping inland towards a defiant sandcastle. You could visualise both outcomes, but there no way that you could stop it. Each circle of your poor, swollen, clit, each _flick_ of the assassin’s fingers deep within your body was driving you towards completion. 

Some small movement, some slight shift in his stance was all it took, your body stiffening as your orgasm started deep in your abdomen, rippling outwards and leaving your whole pussy numb from it. You felt like you had been doused in warm water, heat washing over you from head to toe in a tidal wave while colours of golds and oranges and blacks exploded behind your eyelids. You had the overwhelming urge to scream, to sink to the floor in a puddle of cum and twitching limbs and declare that you loved him.

Malik could feel your body react to him, clenching and quivering around his fingers. He kissed you, deeply, nudging your fingers away from your mouth so that he could taste your orgasm through your kisses, not satisfied until you had given everything over to him. Fingers continuing to work gently against your heated flesh, providing those last little aftershocks of pleasure as your body coasted down from its high and your pulse and breathing returned to normal. Or as normal as you ever thought it was going to be, you swore that the dull thudding of your pulse in your ears and between your legs would last for the rest of your life.

That had been _amazing_. Propped against the assassin’s body and the bookcase, you lick your dry lips and try to form some sort of sense of self, still ghosting with a warm afterglow of orgasm.

You watch him, vison glazed, mind woolly, while Malik carefully extracted his inquisitive fingers from your underwear, offering a parting caress as he did so that sent shivers all the way down to your toes and tightened some very sore muscles. 

When you could focus again you found him grinning, lips swollen from your kissing and clothing is disarray. His smile softened his features, and made him seem less authoritative. Plus it took years off him.

Teasingly slowly, he sucked the first damp index digit into his mouth, eyes locked on yours, then the second, licking off the last traces of your scent, a gesture that left you practically whimpering.

‘You never told me if the prince got to marry the princess after all of that?’ You croak finally, voice hoarse and unable to take your eyes off his, surprised that you even could string two words together. Everything still felt very…surreal.

The assassin grinned, just a quick flash of teeth. ‘Alas he didn’t.’

You raise your eyebrow in surprise. You had expected a happy ending to the story.

‘The princess decided that accepting him would most likely end her fun, so thought best to continue interviewing suitors, where she could have endless pleasure for all the nights that she wished.’

You chuckled at the elaboration, well perhaps it was a happy ending after all, even though you certainly hadn’t expected that. 

‘Sounds like my kind of princess.’ You murmured teasingly, drawing him close for another kiss and running your palm along the front of his robes so that you could caress the outline of his erection. Just being able to be this free and relaxed with him was something that you never expected, and how easily you had fallen into intimacies, thinking nothing of demanding more attention.

Your actions were rewarded with a small yelp from the Rafiq, pressing urgently against your palm. You could feel the slight shift of his hips, happy for you to offer a gentle squeeze of his straining manhood. 

As Malik’s tongue slipped between your lips you were left wondering just how were you going to work further further…activities like this, his clothing wasn’t designed for a discreet ‘quickie’ in a public place, and you certainly had not had quite enough yet. That first orgasm was clearly just a small taster of what you could expect from the skilful scholar.

Just as you were working each other into a further state of arousal, a noise startled the pair of you and the Rafiq pulled away quickly, straitening his own clothing and tugging yours together so as not to appear indecent.

'Master Malik?' The not so distant call from some novice further in the library echoed around the high ceilinged room. ‘The Rafiq from Acre is here to see you, sir.’

With a soft, almost inaudible groan, Malik reluctantly pulls away from you with lingering kisses , looking very much like he would love to strip you down and continue your embrace right here against the stacks.

'Come back tonight.' He enthuses quickly, lips trailing your ear and teeth gently biting into the sensitive lobe. 'After dark. When everyone has left.' 

You can only nod, still breathless and tingling from the waves of pleasure and budding arousal coursing their way through your body.

‘I’ll show you my favourite chapter.’ He all but purred with a teasing look.

Malik offers a final lingering kiss against the big pulse point in your throat that threatened to buckle your knees, then another one against your lips before disappearing around a corner bookshelf to head off the investigating recruit and meet the Acre scholar. 

Slumping against the nearest hard surface, you let out a deep, shaking, breath, quickly tying the loose strings of your leggings and smoothing your mussed hair, unable to fully accept what you had just done but very much looking forwards to the return visit. 

 


End file.
